


E/R in January

by sereniteasocks



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sereniteasocks/pseuds/sereniteasocks
Summary: A bunch of drabbles, written in/originally published on tumblr in January. Varying in era, universe, place, length and, above all, quality.





	1. The beginning after the end

Grantaire’s brain works slowly at first, his eyes on the ground, not even contemplating the thought of raising them because he has no idea what he’ll see. The ground is brown rather than red, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, meaning it actually is pounding, and he feels no pain, but maybe it’s just an illusion. He has, after all, only been able to have confidence in cheese, wine, and beautiful artwork - in things he can process and know are real and good.

But of course there has also always been his greatest belief, the belief most people would say is the most fragile. But of course, they would be wrong.  
Because it is not the smell of cheese or wine or a glimpse of an artwork that drags him off the ground, that leads him to raising his eyes again. 

His eyes who meet the color blue, then close one more, as he feels lips brushing his forehead. He realizes that while he has observed those lips so many times, he has never truly thought about how they would feel. His imagination could never reach so far. He would never have expected them to be like, well, lips, though that is what they are in the end.

He is familiar with the hands by now - but when one of the hands had taken one of his only minutes earlier, it had been steady. As both of Enjolras’ hand are now cupping his face, they are trembling. A slight tremble, sure, but a tremble nonetheless.

Grantaire opens his eyes again, to see Enjolras contemplating him. He has grown used to reading Enjolras’ faces - belief, hope, disappointment, anger being by far the most common emotions - but he can’t quite read this expression. 

Enjolras lets his arms drop, and lowers his head. Grantaire isn’t quite sure what to make of it, but lets his own head fall upon Enjolras’ shoulder and embraces him. 

Maybe Grantaire imagines things afterward. He could swear, however, that Enjolras’ cheeks are red. That he can feel his own heartbeat being slow and steady. Finally, also, that his heart aches. For a longing that is not what it used to be, now partially fulfilled, and partially seeming not so far out of reach.


	2. Temporarily, maybe

“I did not make any new year’s resolution.” Enjolras stirs. Only a moment ago, the room had been dead silent. The man who came in continues. “If I change, I change. if I don’t, I don’t. If I wanted to jog, I would, but I never would want to, so why I should I tell myself that I should jog? It’s a very pointless ritual, in my humble opinion.”  
Having picked his coffee option, Enjolras turns away from the machine to look at the man. The man makes a peep, and directly turns his attention on inspecting a cabinet.  
“I didn’t ask” Enjolras answers. “Good morning to you, too.”  
“Hm, well, I didn’t feel like giving you the opportunity. If people really want to get to know the temp that’s only gonna be here for a month, do they really want to prioritize that piece of information? It’s about who someone wants to be and not who they are, which granted could be very interesting, but the thing is that no one ever makes their new year’s resolution to be less of an asshole, they just want eat more fruit, and what would it matter if I wanted to eat more fruit? What does that tell you? Nothing. It’s a waste of time, I tell you.”  
“Well, I wasn’t going to ask, so you only wasted your own time.”  
“Hah.” The man has now picked up a mug with blue, white and red stripes and is showing it up to Enjolras. “Is there like, a policy here? Last place I temped at, someone almost punched me for taking his mug. The smallest prettiest little thing, the mug that is, and the guy was huge. Like, I wouldn’t think he could get a good grasp at it, but he did. It was kind of impressive, really. He’s a friend now.”  
“No, no one here has a particular fondness for mug number forty seven that says ‘Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras Law’.”  
“Particularly not Enjolras, right? Poor guy got his name listed last. It’s a shame, because it really rolls of the tongue nicely, doesn’t it? Bad name for a lawyer though, being called angel when you’re advocating for the devil?”  
“We focus on human rights law and we do a lot of pro bono-work. I wouldn’t call that being the devil’s advocate.”  
“Wait…” the man puts down the mug again, places his hands on Enjolras’ shoulders, and looks around carefully. “Are we being filmed?” he whispers, his eyes wide open.  
“Very funny. I have to leave but before I go I need to tell you - don’t choose anything that contains ‘white product’, I don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely not milk.” With that, Enjolras takes his mug and starts to leave, more slowly than he might have.  
“Thanks. And, well, before you leave. My name’s Hugo Grantaire. And yours?”  
“Louis-Michel Enjolras.”  
If Grantaire’s face goes a bit pale, Enjolras doesn’t notice - it’s a very common occurrence among new people at the office.  
“Oh. Well, your name is listed last, so you don’t have enough power to fire me for annoying you, right?”  
“See you around” Enjolras responds, with a hint of a smile, and leaves definitely.  
“That’s a no, right?” Grantaire says, suddenly finding himself talking to a closed door. “Well, let’s hope so. Yes, see him around…”


	3. Pictures of...me?

There are a lot of papers that lies on the floor on the other side of the door, but Enjolras can’t for the life of him localize the actual paper. Too tired to do an actual search he grabs the whole bunch thinking that whatever those other things are they might be interesting, believer as he is.

The first thing he picks up, is two sketches. Is that Joly and Bossuet..fencing? That can’t be safe. And surely enough, on the right side on the same page, there’s Bossuet with an eye patch. Enjolras finds himself chuckling. 

There are lots and lots of sketches in the large stack of papers. They’re not precise, but they’re highly effective. And they’re fun. They’re his friends, and maybe not in scenarios they would usually be, but still they’re so them. Enjolras is happy to admit that this is much nicer than reading the news.

Leafing through them though, he is filled with more than laughter and love for his friends. Because there are pictures of him. Quite a few, actually. It’s not that those of him are different from the rest, because most are not. They’re, well, a representation of him. Funny like the rest. Him in the French flag, him punching Napoleon in the face, him holding a mug of coffee the size of his head.

But then there are those that are different. One is of Apollo holding hands with Dionysus and of course Enjolras is not Apollo, he has been pretty firm on that point, but both Greek gods do look awfully familiar. There’s the one that is detailed, and full of color, and Enjolras might not know much about art but he can see that a lot of effort has been put into it - that there has been a lot of feeling put into it, feeling that transcends the paper. And there’s one of him in clothes that are not his, clothes that he’s almost certain are..well, Grantaire’s, and he feels this punch to the gut, the punch that he has been feeling more and more lately.

Grantaire. Grantaire, the only person who is not pictured, at least not in his own form. Grantaire, who he has spotted in the corner with paper and pens so many times. Grantaire.  
Enjolras doesn’t know much about art, but he thinks he understands. He can’t do art, but he thinks he might try.  
“I’m guessing 9 o’clock is too early to go see someone on a Sunday?” he asks, only now acknowledging Combeferre who has been sitting by his side for quite a while.  
“I’d wait a few hours.” Combeferre says, hiding a smile.  
A few hours. He’s not quite sure he can wait, but at least he’ll have time.


	4. Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

“So you have never kissed anyone? What a waste of such-”  
“Technically, I have.”  
“Pardon, what?”  
“Not in the sense I suspect you mean it, but I did bestow two-”  
“Two? Not a singular mistake, but a repeated one?”  
“A mistake? I believe you yourself-”  
“I’ve mostly known you to be single-minded for a cause, what else could it have been?”  
“A sign of respect. Do you remember our flag?”  
“Our flag? I can well imagine you kissing it, but I wouldn’t classify a flag as ‘anyone’.”  
“No, not in that.. Let’s leave it be. Do you recall the elderly man who stayed with us for a couple of weeks at the start, until Marius’ father came and got him?”  
“Mabeuf? Yes, of course I do. He was remarkably well read. I think Jehan fell a bit in love with him.”  
“Then you must know him to be worthy. I kissed him once on the forehead, once on the hand.”  
“Is that true? Is thus dead skin to be more blest than living lips?”  
“Would, technically, dead lips be a better substitute?”  
“P..Par-”


	5. Where is the sun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some swearing and innuendos which should be 'save' for a teenage audience, but I'm putting a warning here just in case.

“Fucking cold. Fucking snow. Fucking ice. Fucking no sun. And don’t say I’m the sun.”  
“Believe it or not, though I know your preferences, you don’t strike me as too sunny right now.”  
“It makes no sense, it’s too hot for a couple of months, we have a couple of months of decent weather, then you can’t go outside without a bodypart of yours freezing to death.”  
“Let’s hope it’s a body part of yours I can part with. Though actually, there’s no part of yours I’d part with willingly. Whatever’s left of you though, I’d still take.”  
“I don’t think I could part with your month.”  
“Ooh, dirty.”  
“Seriously though. There’s so much you say that fills my head space. That makes me smile, laugh, but also think. I don’t-”  
“As much as I am enjoying this, sometimes this mouth of mine nearly annoys you to death, doesn’t it?”  
“True. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s still your voice, you.”  
“Now there’s the sunny Enjolras I know.”  
“For fuck’s sake.”  
“And there’s the grumpy one. Wanna protest the weather or something?”  
“Eh, it’s not like it could actually work.”  
“You don’t do the impossible, you say? And still you try to make politicians do stuff.”  
“Well, you’re impossible and.. Either way, let’s focus on getting home and warm. Let’s hurry.”  
“If I don’t keep up with you my hand will be ripped away by sheer force, so I don’t have a choice, do I?”  
“We always have a choice. You could free your hand of mine.”  
“Not an option.”


	6. Lost illusions

Enjolras’ work space was always in perfect order. His bedroom floor, covered with dirty clothes. He made sure to keep the door open when inviting the group over.

Enjolras’ speeches were always spoken in a firm voice, and eloquently put. When he spoke to his parents, his voice went up a pitch and he became once again 12 years old. He made sure to call his parents during breaks in meetings.

Enjolras’ face was always free from blemishes. His back, had pimples. He made sure to go swimming when they all went to the beach.

Enjolras’ always kept a stoic face and was always quiet when others spoke during meetings. When watching the news, he made grimaces. When washing the dishes, he unconsciously started humming to old disco music. He let the facade slip during movie nights.

Grantaire didn’t notice the changes. He was already aware of the fact that Enjolras was a real human being - not a divine figure. The praises Grantaire bestowed upon Enjolras was due to who he was, not who Grantaire thought he was.

With there being no difference in Grantaire’s reactions towards him, Enjolras could of course not notice any. It lingered in Enjolras’ head the idea that Grantaire had his head full of illusions that would break up any potential relationship when they themselves would inevitably be shattered.

Election night came, with Enjolras yelling at people who could not hear, and making wounded noises at people who could. Election night went, and he wakes up in a couch, and sees his reflection on the glass table - face wrinkled, eyes full of sleep, his hair tangled. He looks up and sees Grantaire, sees the way Grantaire looks at him. His usual thoughts finally shut up, he finally understands, he finally speaks out. 

The illusions are crushed, and reality turns out to be better.


	7. Den sjätte juni 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, this is the only one in Swedish.

Enjolras hade aldrig känt sig särskilt patriotisk. Visst gillade han mycket av det hans land stod för, men det hade aldrig känts som hemma. Inte bara på grund av hans namn som ingen kunde uttala, eller för att han aldrig riktigt gillat maten, inte ens att det var en monarki. Det gällde något större.

Den sjätte juni gav honom en extra speciell känsla. Då en del av landet hade en viss entusiasm för nationaldagen, kände han sitt bröst bränna av något djupt, nästan sorg. Det var kanske bara att hans känslor av att vara främling i sitt eget land förstärktes. Han lyckades aldrig riktigt sätta fingret på det.

Vanligtvis höll han låg profil denna dag, men hans kaffe var slut. Matbutiken var i stort sett tom men när han sökte febrilt efter franskrost kom en man i hans synfält.  
“Tillåter du?” sa han, lätt sarkastiskt, och sträckte sig fram efter ett paket blockerat av Enjolras. Det var något som klickade. Enjolras tänkte inte ens, hans arm sträcktes ut och hans hand tog mannens hand. Mannen som drog in sin anda och såg på honom. Mannen, som han nu kände igen.  
“Åtminstone är min födelsedag den fjortonde juli” sa Enjolras, hans känslor överflödande men hans hjärna tom.  
Grantaire skrattade, ett lättat, ljuvt skratt som Enjolras aldrig hade hört förut. Inte ens 185 år tidigare.


	8. A romance language

“Is that French?” Grantaire asks leaning over Enjolras’ shoulder, millimeters away from resting his head there, to see what Enjolras is reading.  
“Yes. Don’t hover, please. If you’re that interested in what I’m reading, you can just sit down.”  
“You can’t read it to me? Talk to me like one of your French girls.”  
“I have no idea what that means, but no. My pronunciation is terriblé.”  
“You are capable of being terrible, it’s true” Grantaire says, sitting down. “So. French, huh? Why French?”  
“I admire how they’ve always fought for their freedom, Why my great-great-great-great-grandfather emigrated from there, I will never understand.”  
“I suppose it was freer here back then. So, you need help?”  
“You speak french?”  
“J’aimerais bien être celui qui te tient la main dans la rue.”  
“I need it to turn the pages right now.” Enjolras is smiling, but not joking.  
“..you understood that?”   
“Yes. If you really want to hold my hand, don’t underestimate my language skills, please.”  
“No trust me, I don’t. I am convinced that you yourself underestimate your oral skills even.”


	9. So how could I ever refuse

“So, you’re the French contestant?”  
“Yes. Enjolras” he says, hesitating, still confused about whether you’re supposed to shake hands or do a bisou.  
“Grantaire. You know, I’ve always wondered. Why do they do the show in French as well as English? Doesn’t, like, everybody speak English nowadays?”  
“Pardon?!”  
“Maybe not you. Hm.”  
“No, I do. And many do. Especially in countries such as the USA and India and I-”  
“Napoleon.” Grantaire simply states, biting his lip, waiting for Enjolras’ reaction. Enjolras who stares, only to break into laughter, leaving Grantaire be the one staring.  
“Well” Enjolras says, starting to calm down. “Yeah, you’re right. He was a jerk. You could have a more modern reference, though. We both come from countries that have taken liberty away from other countries.”  
“Actually, I’m not British. I won’t even be singing in English or French.”  
“Wait, what? That’s super!”  
“You won’t say that when you actually hear Finnish.”


	10. Never gonna give you up

Topic: What the right won’t tell you about Robespierre  
“hey. i thought this [link] might be in your interest  
R”

Enjolras’ excitement upon opening the link from the mail soon turns to confusion. What he arrives at is not a newspaper, but youtube. And it’s a song. Kinda catchy, not what he thought Grantaire would be into.  
“We are no strangers to love” the song begins. “You know the truth, and so do I” it continues, leaving to Enjolras drawing in his breath.  
“I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling, I wanna make you understand”. Enjolras pauses the song for a moment, preparing himself. “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down..”. Oh. Oh!

Grantaire, unexpectedly, looks a bit surprised at Enjolras’ arrival.  
“So, what brings you here?”  
“It’s the song you sent me.”  
“Oh, wow. Did you really come all this way to yell at me?”  
“Yell at you? Of course not. I just.. I can’t imagine how you found it. It all fits so - like, I’m not a shy person. That’s pretty clear. But still, my heart has been aching. And I have indeed been to shy to show it.”  
“Enjolras…” Grantaire begins. “I mean, I can’t tell..mostly you are, but are you serious?”  
“Of course I am. Wait, aren’t you?”  
“…can you promise me to wait to react, hell, feel, until I am finished?” Enjolras nods. “Well, this song is a thing on the internet, where people send false links that end up there. It’s..sort of a joke. And I send it to you, as a joke. I swear, I thought you knew what it was. But - but! - on a deeper level, it is true. I didn’t mean to confess it now, or ever, but I do have romantic feelings for you. And if you really do feel the same, I think we should, try. Date, or something.”  
“You do have a way of saying profound or deeply personal things, and hide it behind a rant or a joke.”   
“True. So, what do you say?  
Enjolras, smiling, takes Grantaire’s hands and looks him deeply in the eye.  
“That I feel the same way. That I am never going to give you up.”  
Grantaire eyes are full of fondness, but he sighs before saying,  
“Shit, I’m gonna have to start taking the song seriously now, aren’t I?”


	11. Je ne comprends que l'amour et la liberté

There are a lot of things that Grantaire does not understand. The principal of them being maths. How two numbers works together to become a third, letters that are supposed to signify something on their own, greek letters that aren’t even greek to him - he has, after all, dabbled in greek. 

He doesn’t understand cooking. He doesn’t understand how he who has such great sense of good quality products can’t make the products in question work together. There are lots and lots of languages he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand physics, judgmental people, american cheese, how it always rains those days when his curls has managed to form themselves into something beautiful…

Given how many things there are in the universe, it can safely be said that he doesn’t understand most of them.

What he does understand is love and liberty. What he does understand is the one man who embodies those things the best; who loves, who is free, who loves liberty. 

Grantaire understands this man’s ideas, even if he doesn’t always agree. This man’s feelings, even when they’re not those who he himself would have. This man’s expressions, quirks, rituals. Though it took him some time he also understands that this man loves him, even why this man loves him.

What he understands can’t take him to the moon, can’t let him communicate with most of the world, can’t make him an independently wealthy man. It’s alright, though. He understands what’s important.


	12. Imprinted

Grantaire really ought not to be surprised at anyone who came into the parlour to get a tattoo. There were the stereotypical clients, true, but he soon learnt that people of all walks of life decided to get tattoos. The client who just walked in, however, still managed to surprise him. But it was not that he had the type of face of someone who would not get a tattoo. It was that he had the kind of face that people would gladly get permanently painted on their body.  
“Hello. Louis-Michel Enjolras, I have an appointment for 6 o’clock.”  
“Hello. Yes, of course. Are you already sure of what you’re getting? Will it be, say, the name of a significant other?”  
There is a sparkle in Enjolras’ eyes as he responds.  
“Yes. Patria.”  
Grantaire smiles and nods at this, trying not to burst into laughter, because that would be very unprofessional. But really. Patria is his girlfriend? Who is his, say, mother?  
“Of course. Oh, and I see you brought a reference piece.”  
“Yes. Blue, white, and red script. Obviously.”  
“Obviously. Well, you can go sit in that chair over there, and I’ll go get my supplies..hey, you look a little pale. Everything ok?”  
“Yes, I’m just a little nervous. Maybe I should have brought someone to hold my hand or something.”  
“I can hold it.” Grantaire pauses, mentally slapping himself in the face. “Well, I can’t really, but I can offer moral support. That’s what I meant.”  
“So it would be completely out of the question for you to give my hand a squeeze beforehand?”  
“….no?”  
“Great.”  
“..Great.”  
Great, is what Grantaire keeps mumbling to himself while getting the supplies, hoping despite himself to be able to get through this session with some professional reputation intact. 


	13. Crisp morning breath

Enjolras looks really soft in the morning, Grantaire discovers. Very kissable. So,  
“May I kiss you?” he asks. Enjolras smiles and nods.  
Grantaire leans forward, and their lips meet briefly, but something isn’t right, he jumps back.  
“Holy shit, your breath.”  
“..my breath? Why, is something wrong with it?”  
“No, it’s perfect. Too perfect. Enjolras, I have worked really hard and succeeded well in getting rid of my idealized notions of you, and this is really.. How is it possible?”  
“Oh. Well, I..”  
“You’re descended from the tooth fairy?”  
“No, I…I woke up an hour or so ago, and I went to brush my teeth.”  
“..you went to brush your teeth in the dead of the night?”  
“Technically, at 6 o’clock in the morning. I mean, that’s hardly in the dead of the night. That’s normal.”  
“Not really” Grantaire says, smiling. “It’s really, incredibly nerdy.” He leans forward again, kissing Enjolras properly. “You know you don’t need to.”  
“Yes, since I really want to kiss you right now even though your breath is horrible.”  
“That’s really lovely, thank you.”


	14. Let's go, the day has arrived

Enjolras considered his patriotism one of his greatest strengths. How he stood by liberty, equality and brotherhood and would fight for those ideals. How he would fight for France to become the country he knew it was not; but knew it could be. It was a strength, but came with one big downfall. It was La Marseillaise.  
The song that stirred him to the core. A song he could not help but sing along to as soon as he heard the notes or a few words. A song that captured him so much, that he forgot what had happened moments before.  
A song that thus was a secret weapon for his friends to use whenever they wanted to distract him, want to get out of trouble, or sometimes just calm him down. It was foolproof. It had always worked.  
A secret weapon Grantaire was very aware of and was very fond of using. He said he only used it when strictly necessary, which happened to be very often, especially when he was alone with Enjolras after a meeting like right now.  
“I always have difficulty understanding Marius, as you well know, but I must say that right now, it’s even harder than usual to understand how his mind works.” Enjolras says, cleaning up the chaos of chairs that he created in a fit of passion.  
“What has he done now, put a portrait of Sarkozy up on Courfeyrac’s wall?”  
“No, it’s about his other great love. Apparently he is freaking out about telling Cosette he loves her, which is ridiculous, because he has no problem bringing it up in every meeting, unwarranted as he knows it is, what could make it so hard for him to say it to her?”  
“That at least I can understand. I mean, I’ve been talking about my feelings for you with Joly and Bossuet a million times, but I’ve never actually told you that I lo-” Oh, shit. shit. shit. Emergency protocol. “I mean.. Allons enfants de la Patrie…” Grantaire begins to sing, but Enjolras stays silent. “ Le jour de gloire est arrivé” Grantaire continues, but Enjolras still doesn’t join in, moving closer instead. Putting his hands on Grantaire’s cheeks. Grantaire doesn’t quite know what’s happening, but leans forward, just like Enjolras, and their lips meet. When the kiss eventually ends, the confusion remains.  
“But you always sing along?”  Grantaire says softly.  
“..you were singing?”


	15. Because I can't stop checking you out

The machine for returning and lending books is broken, and Grantaire would, and did for a moment, mind. Sociable as he generally was, when he went to the library he usually had a single minded focus. This single minded focus had, however, been an error, he came to realize, seeing the man at the desk.  
“Hi” he says, handing over a biography over Oscar Wilde and his library card. “I am, indeed, looking for a wilde time.” Grantaire is well aware that the joke might not be that original, and especially not to a bookish person, but he figured it would at least make the librarian look up from his library card. Apparently not.  
“So, you are Hugo Grantaire” the librarian says.   
“Yes, you clearly know how to read a card.”  
“You clearly do not know how to read the rules.”  
“..sorry?”  
“Does it not state, there on that noticeboard, that one is not supposed to draw or make notes in our library books, even in pencil?”  
“Well, that just wasn’t there when I first started to come here.”  
“No, because before you we thought that our frequenters were aware that you should not write ‘savage’ next to every line said by Lady Macbeth, or write ‘did you know that he was really into spanking?” in The Social Contract, or draw a comparison, literally, between Quasimodo’s and Richard the Third’s hunchback in library books. Apparently, that is not clear to everyone.”  
“Well, first of all, I see nothing inherently wrong in breaking the rules. Secondly, I figure the person reading the book after me might get a laugh out of it. Or in other cases, since I see you’ve focused only on the frivolous, some food for thought.”  
“..either way, it’s a waste of public resources, and a waste of time for us librarians.”  
“But as you are familiar with my thoughts, what are yours on mine?”   
“I think you are cynical and not very serious.”  
“Thank you” Grantaire says with a grin that grows larger as the librarian frowns at this. “I think I shall dedicate my next work to you. What’s the name?””  
“..Louis Michael Enjolras. You are aware that it will just be erased?”  
“By you?”  
“…possibly.”  
“Well, I guess it’s for your eyes only. Obviously”, he says pointing at the biography that he’s putting in the bag, “I’ll be back. See you around.”  
“Right back at you because starting now, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.  
“I look forward to it.”


	16. Not nothing, not everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one contains references to depression and anxiety.

For one, sometimes the world wasn’t enough. It had no colors, no joy, nothing worth fighting for.  
For the other, sometimes the world was too much. Too noisy, too crowded, too much of everything.  
When they were at their lowest, they’d wish they could transfer their feelings to each other, balance it out. Sadly, with their brains being assholes, it did not work like that.  
But they had a hand to hold on to, and that was not nothing.


	17. Can you paint with the red of revolution

Don’t you ever feel it? The phantom of social justice taking possession of you?”  
“Fortunately, no. That sounds frightening.”  
“Has the beating of your heart never echoed the beating of the drum?”   
“…have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?”   
“What?”   
“Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grins?”   
“..is this one of Jehan’s poems?”   
“It’s from Pocahontas.”   
“Ah. Even when we children, Combeferre wouldn’t let me see it. Too historically inaccurate.”   
“And yet, you won’t stop ranting about the Scarlet Pimpernel.“   
“It’s not because I like it! It’s because it paints The Revolution in such a bad way!”   
“It could use a little more red, yes.”   
“I know you’re making a pun, but that’s one hundred percent correct.”   
“I’ll paint a red revolution for you.”   
“That is so-”   
“If you’ll watch Pocahontas with me.”   
“…deal. Don’t tell Combeferre though.”


	18. Let's kiss for...for social justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to homophobia

Grantaire did not look forward to sitting alone with Javert for an hour during Friday afternoon detention. Which is why he was pleasantly surprised to find someone who always amuses him already sitting in the room.  
“Goldilocks. What have brought you here today? Did you call Tholomyes an asshole for saying that monarchies are more stable than republics?” he asked, as he sat down in his regular seat. A seat with which Enjolras should be familiar with by now. And yet, sitting in the seat next to it.  
“My name is Enjolras. That was one time. And I punched a guy for calling Combeferre the f-slur.”  
“Oh, I-”  
“Which” Enjolras continued on, ignoring Grantaire and turning towards Javert, “is ludicrous. You can’t possibly defend such words being used in our school!”  
“We do not. Which is why that ‘guy’ is having detention next week. We do not condone violence either, which is why you are here now.”  
“I was defending-”  
“Try using your words. I know you do that a lot.”  
Enjolras scoffed.  
“Like you wouldn’t send me to detention for calling him what he is.”  
“We do like our diplomacy here.” Enjolras, again, scoffed. Javert did that creepy not-quite-smile that always made everyone uncomfortable. “I am going to need coffee if you are in that mood. Excuse me.”  
As Javert left Grantaire turned to Enjolras.  
“Why don’t you always simply scoff when you’re upset? It’s clearly highly effective.”   
“Hahaha.”  
“But really, well done. The guy had it coming.”  
Enjolras raised his eyebrows, his facial expression softening a bit.  
“So, you care about lgbtaq-rights?” Grantaire nodded. “So, would you care for doing a demonstration for it?” Grantaire nodded again. “Like, us kissing in public?” Grantaire stared at Enjolras for a moment, having not quite realised until that moment that that was something he’d quite like to do. He nodded, for a third time.  
Then they could hear footsteps approaching, Enjolras reached over, gently putting his hands on Grantaire’s cheeks, and kissed Grantaire lightly.  
“I am going to add five minutes to your detention time for this time wasted.” were to be Javert’s only reaction. Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire knew quite how to react.  
“That was not very public” Grantaire finally managed to get out.  
“We’ll make it more public next time” Enjolras said, sounding determined. Grantaire, having his eyes stuck to the desk, couldn’t see the change of colour upon Enjolras’ face.  
“..yeah. Yeah.”


	19. Disbelief in belief

“I believe in you.”  
“You believe in everything.”  
“I believe in many things, that is true. However, my belief is often a result of me not having faith. I believe in our country, because I don’t believe that this is the best state that it could be in. I believe in the republic, because I don’t believe in a few people deciding our faiths. I believe in freedom-”  
“Because you don’t believe in slavery. I understand, Enjolras. It doesn’t change the fact that you believe in almost everyone.”  
“And what if I do? Does that in any way lessen my belief in you?”  
“Yes, because I have not earned it.”  
“Have I earned yours?”  
“Who could not believe in you, when they see the fire that is within you?”  
“You have fire within you too, Grantaire. And I believe, truly, that you only show us a smudge of what you are, that you yourself only know a small portion of what you are or could be.”  
“Are you trying to prove your faith in me or trying to make me believe in myself?”  
“Both, possibly.”  
“You will not succeed.”  
“I will. If it takes me until my dying breath.”


	20. My sad heart will follow your every step

“Vous me quittez pour aller à la gloire, mon triste coeur suivra partout vos pas” Grantaire sings in a low tone.  
“What is that from?” Marius asks. “I believe I have heard that before.”  
“A royalist song, probably. He must have heard my steps.” Enjolras says, upon entering the room. “Grantaire, are you in a decent state?”  
“It is not-” Marius begins, but Grantaire interrupts him.  
“As decent as my state can be.”  
“Is that supposed to be a yes or a no?”  
“Do you need me?” Grantaire asks, his eyes are soft and sad when he shakes his head, “no, you do not.”  
Enjolras swallows.  
“Marius, you have proved yourself. Will you come with me?” Marius nods, and rises. “Grantaire, perhaps I will come for you later.”  
“If you do, I will follow you” Grantaire says, earning him a backwards glance from Enjolras as the man leaves the room. “If you do not, as I suspect, I still will.”


	21. Inevitably requited

Enjolras was well aware of the fact that romantic feelings are not something you can control. If they were, he could have mended a few broken hearts. If they were, he would be in love with either Combeferre or Feuilly. But despite the fact that that would be very convenient, he was definitely not.

Enjolras was aware of all of this. Still, he was struck when he overheard a conversation between Bossuet, Grantaire and Joly. From what he heard (before removing himself to give them some privacy), apparently Grantaire was in love with someone, and apparently this person did not feel the same way.

He was struck, because who would not give Grantaire a chance, and who would not end up won over? Grantaire was rash, loud, often annoying and looked for trouble, sure. But there was a softness to him, Enjolras had often seen it directed to himself. Grantaire’s rants had a depth hidden in them. He was creative and capable of creating so much beauty. He had a sense of humor, it did not matter that it could be misdirected. Grantaire did so much, loved so much, even though he may not use that term himself.

Enjolras had found, basically, that the more you got to know Grantaire, the more he grew on you. If you gave him the chance, and he was in the mood.  
Enjolras had all of these thoughts and concluded that the irrationality of romantic love be damned, it was impossible for Grantaire’s feelings to remain unrequited.  
He did not know how to describe the way that made him feel.


	22. Our time is now

Enjolras had always known that when joining the National Guard was an option from him, for all republicans, that his, their, day would come. The day they had the chance to really change things. And now, it was the day.  
“I told you” he says to Grantaire, standing by his side outside Hôtel de Ville. “Look, at all these people opposing the little man who is emperor no more. Look at democracy at work.”  
“We’ve lost a battle, and we’ve lost it because we have been too optimistic and not prepared. I don’t think it will last.”  
“And yet, here we are. Here *you* are.”  
“Yes. I am here. You are here.”  
“And I know” Enjolras says, putting his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, “that the work is not done, that we are not safe, but I know it will be so. You must believe so too, otherwise you would have fled Paris.”  
“Yes. I always follow my belief, no matter how misguided it may seem.”  
“It is not misguided” Enjolras says, firmly. Grantaire gives him a small, quick smile.  
“No, it is not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this extremely historically accurate drabble, the Franco-Prussian war does not happen, nor what follows.


	23. Take me to the protest

“Excuse me, Monsieur. If you don’t mind me asking, what is your religion?”  
Enjolras doesn’t hesitate, his answer clear.  
“Progress”, he says.   
“..I see…however, would it interest you to know-”  
“Lost cause” Grantaire interrupts, joining Enjolras’ side, “he has his beliefs and they will not change.”  
“We are all-”   
“Lost cause, Grantaire? You wound me.”  
“You know I only mean that your faith can’t be converted by this man.”  
“I can’t argue with that.”  
“Look, he can’t argue with that! And this is a man who can argue with just about anything!”  
“Perhaps I should go. Thanks for your time.” The man slips away, frowning.  
“Well,” Grantaire says, crossing his arms, ”had I not stepped in that man would have been stuck in a fruitless attempt to convert you to, well, whatever that was, for hours, probably. He should not be frowning, he should be thanking me.”   
“Would a thank you from me suffice? I do need all my talking-power preserved for the rest of the day.”  
“You have a power reserve? I thought that you had a force that powered itself, until infinity. I may take advantage of this newfound weakness.”  
“Is that really necessary, when you already know my ultimate weakness?”  
“I am not a fan of self-exploitation” Grantaire says, smirking. “So, are we going to your religious altar?”  
“Yes, let’s go to the protest.”


	24. A broken response

Grantaire,  
(My english is good enough.)  
You should know that I’ve always tried to listen  
It’s simply that you don’t make it easy  
I thought before that you screamed to be heard  
Maybe it’s partly like that  
But also that you scream sometimes to not be heard when it’s important   
I’ve always tried to listen before  
But it took me just until your poem to make me realize how  
And I listen and I understand and I know you more and I care, more, about you  
The love is a strong word and I have not reached it.  
But I care about you. A lot.  
I would really like know you even more.  
And I hope that it’s not too late 


	25. 1848

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, character death.

In a way, Grantaire had never left that day in 1832 and was still 26. In another way, his life and he himself had changed so much that he was 80. In technical terms, he was 42. He was eager, and tired, and everything made him want to fight. For them. For the people still around him. For himself.  
It turned out to be everything 1832 was not. The cause won, he died. It would have been worth it in 1832. Now, it was all he had hoped for.  
It was strange and beautiful to see them all again. So young, and they said he was too young again. So happy. To see him, of course. To be where they were. That they could see snippets of the world that had been, see their victory that finally arrived.  
There were hugs, plenty of them. But as Grantaire saw Enjolras approaching he grew timid, reaching out his hand. Instead Enjolras smiled, reaching out his arms.  
“May I?” he asked.  
Yes, always yes.


	26. In a chatroom

jedelacrois: Would you say you are beautiful?  
manetomoneto: lol, no, why  
jedelacrois: Do you care?  
manetomoneto: sometimes yes, sometimes no  
jedelacrois: I don't care how I look. Never. But other people do.  
manetomoneto: do u care about that  
jedelacrois: ...sometimes yes, sometimes no.  
manetomoneto: you stole that. for what it's worth, i don't care how you look  
jedelacrois: I appreciate that. Truly.  
manetomoneto: youre really an exquisite mix of amazing and kinda ridiculous whether you look like Saint Just or Napoleon  
jedelacrois: ...I appreciate that. Truly.


	27. The musician

They all had their ways of expressing themselves. Bahorel had his gestures. Bossuet, his puns. Combeferre, his essays. Courfeyrac, saying things outright. Enjolras, his speeches. Feuilly, his crafts. Jehan, his poetry. Joly, his graphics.  
Grantaire had his music. It was excellent, really. You could choose when to use a general feeling or tone with the music, and you could choose when to use actual words. There was no implication of what was real, and what was not. You could be serious, and you could be funny. More often than not, he chose the latter.  
He had sung songs about cats, all of his friends, all the people who were not his friends, other musicians, the weather, his favourite beanie, cheese, and everything else he loved or hated.  
Most songs were not about Enjolras. Mostly because most of his life revolved around other people and things; partly because he didn’t want too much to revolve around the other man. And weren’t love songs overdone, anyway?  
They were. But sometimes, Grantaire couldn’t help himself. He spoke of Enjolras constantly, but never to him, never directly. He wanted to. But he knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.   
Thus, as he sang himself covering Romeo and Juliet, “all I do is kiss you, through the bars of a rhyme.”


	28. Family reunion

“You, Fantine, are the only human, and you Cosette, an angel in this sea of reptiles.”  
Fantine is smiling when she answers Grantaire.  
“I really shouldn’t allow you to say that.”  
“..and what category would you put me into, then?” Enjolras asks.  
“I know you too well to put you into a box. All I know is how to lure you into one.”  
“Really, how?”  
“Having an old lady saying she’s ‘caught’ in one, and that she needs help getting to the voting station.”  
Fantine and Cosette both laugh at this, and Enjolras finds himself smiling. He had been right, accepting when Grantaire offered to come with him to this. Grantaire had made no claims to be good moral support, but Enjolras knew him to be a good distraction. A good distraction which might be needed when his favourite aunt brought her newly re-found illegitimate daughter to the reunion of his judgemental family.  
“Well, I know how to lure you into a box as well. If good food can make you go to the reunion of Cold Reactionists, it could lure you into a box too.”  
“I’ll take that as you agreeing.” Enjolras shrugs in reponse, still smiling. “So I guess I have to admit that you’re right too.”  
“And yet, you haven’t visited the cheese table?” Fantine says.  
“There’s a cheese table?!” Grantaire exclaims.  
Fantine offers to lead the way, and they leave together.  
“He did not come here for the food”, Cosette says the moment they’re gone.  
“Why so?”  
“I know that look. He came for you.”  
“He’s a..friend, but we’re not that-”  
“I know that look. He’d follow you anywhere, if you asked, or if you just allowed him to.”  
“Would it be rude for me to say, that you don’t know him, or me, that well yet? I should add that I really would like to get to know you better.”  
“It would be true, and as long as it’s true, I’m happy. I’ve been around so many secrets, too many.”  
“Alright.”  
“So just be aware if you’re lying, I can tell. Especially if you’re lying to yourself.”  
“I will.” Enjolras says, quite unsure why that makes him feel so strange inside.


	29. Please don't stop liking me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idea shamelessly stolen from the show Please Like Me, which everyone should watch.

“You say you believe in me. So can’t you believe me when I say that I care for you? That I-”  
“I do, I do believe you. It’s just, I’m afraid there’s things about me that you’re gonna find out, and you’re gonna stop liking me.”  
“Why don’t you try me?”  
“Enjolras..”  
“The way I see it, either we’re not going to try this because you’re scared of what will happen when these things about you are revealed, or we’re going to try this and you’re going to be constantly scared that these things are going to be revealed… or you’re going to tell me now, and we’ll both know.”  
“Actually, that makes a lot of sense.”  
“And I know you don’t always listen to sense. But..please.”  
“..yes, okay. Well, to start it off, I’m the one who wrote My Immortal.”  
“..what is that?”  
“A bad joke. But, in all seriousness…back in high school, there was a pregnancy scare, and I’m not sure what I would have done if she had been pregnant. I think I might have abandoned her, them.”  
“Well, of course you were scared. And we’ll never know what would have happened.”  
“When I go out, I write Joly’s number on my arm, because I never know what’ll happen.”  
“Well, I wish you would write down the number of someone who isn’t going out with you. But you’re trying to be more safe, and I’m glad.”   
“I’ve never read the Social Contract.”  
“But we’ve had debates about it!”  
“I just looked up the main points.”  
“…alright. I’m not going to indulge in any more of those debates with you until you’ve read it, though.”  
“I’ll be sure to. Those are some of my favourite discussions of ours.”  
“Agreed. So, do you have anything more to say?”  
“Not right now. I think..well, people are supposed to get to know each other better when dating, right? So maybe we can do it one bit at the time..?”  
“Yes, yes. Let’s do that. I’d love that.”


	30. Stars, in their multitude

“I thought the stars in your eyes was the worlds most beautiful thing, but seeing the actual stars when you’re among them, not just watching from below.. it might be better.”  
“You have such a keen eye for stars. This must be overwhelming.”  
Grantaire gives Enjolras’ hand a squeeze.  
“I think I can manage it.”  
“I was going to say it’s strange that you, with such an dark outlook on the world, is so drawn to the light, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re drawn to the light in the darkness.”  
“Well, I am nothing but a cliche. I could quote you so many things, about man’s love for stars and the light.”  
“That does not weaken it. We must not forget, however, what we are truly here for.”  
“Yes - to engage in star wars.”  
“Did you really join the battle, to be able to repeatedly say Star Wars?”  
“Well it’s partly that, partly that I look good in a brown coat. Partly because I do want to rebel and fight for the independence for everyone. Partly because you will be forced to endure my company in very tight quarters for a very long time. You didn’t think of that when you asked me to join, did you?”  
Enjolras gives Grantaire’s hand a squeeze.  
“I think I can manage it.” 


	31. Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must be honest, you probably can't expect too much historical accuracy

He had seen his country crumble, and now it was once more free. Enjolras had never been fond of August. It seemed like that with the weather slowly turning more mild, his mind slowly started turning less sharp. This August of 1944, however, was very different. This August was joyful.  
With his city and his country re-building themselves, he knew it was going to come together beautifully. Yet, though his city and his country was an extension of himself, it was not all that he was. And he knew that he had to rebuild his life with a new component. Or, a component that had been there for a long time. It had simply changed shape.  
He knew he wanted to incorporate it, knew he had to. He just didn’t know how, or if it was even possible.  
Though he knew how to wait and take advantage of opportunities as they came, he was not a patient man. He did not like not knowing. So he asked, as soon as he could.  
“Grantaire. You have been my side during this resistance, and while I admit that somewhere in the middle I was..irritated with you, you have grown on me. I think you’ve grown as a person, I think you’ve grown more confident in showing some of your hidden sides, our friendship has grown, and my feelings for you have grown. And not, strictly, feelings of friendship. It’s simply when the friendship grew deep enough, it eventually also lend is way to romance. On my side, that is. Of course I can’t speak for you. So I am asking you, if you think you could feel the same.  And if that could ever be, if you could be with me. I know I am not always an easy person to be around, which you of all people also should know by now.”  
The most patient man in the world would have grown uneasy as Grantaire stared at him in silence for a very long time.   
“I, well. Needed time to process that. It doesn’t feel quite real. It’s like you, seeing the people overjoyed as de Gaulle descended the Champs Élysées, but more intense.”  
Enjolras swallows.  
“More intense?”  
“I, I can’t really see how you could be surprised. It seems like it’s been obvious. I’ve followed you everywhere Enjolras, I’ve followed you at your worst, of course I want to be with you.”  
“But you did notice, the romantically?” Enjolras was not a man who liked any form of ambiguity.  
Grantaire smiles and shakes his head at this, before grabbing a hold of Enjolras’ shoulder, moving closer, slowly. Enjolras follows lead, but not slowly, he does not want to waste time. As their lips meet, he takes the opportunity to place in hands in Grantaire’s hair, on his neck, shoulders, back, hips, eventually settling on holding Grantaire’s hands.   
“So, yes. So, now?” he says, after they eventually had to break apart.  
“Now. For as long as possible. I know it’s going to be hard, but..”  
“We’ve learnt a lot about how to fight during these years. Each other, by actually trying to communicate. The forces that are against us, by using any way we can find. We can do this.”  
“Yes. We can do this.”


End file.
